


Stars In Your Eyes

by theblythe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, For Science!, Friendship, One-Sided Rivalry, Secret Identity, peter parker is too pure for this world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-06-05 17:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15175649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblythe/pseuds/theblythe
Summary: The next time she sees Peter Parker, he's seventeen and he looks different--all cheerful, strong, andalive.Much like a Disney character as she remembered, but less of a Milo Thatch and more emphasis on the hero part.Or, Harriet Osborn does some growing up, and sometimes Peter Parker joins in. When she leaves, she unknowingly takes someone's heart along with her.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first ever Spider-man fanfic! And I've decided to write about an odd choice of pairing with an even odder choice of gender-bending. Lol, just usual me. Wow, this is going to be an absolute mess but please bear with me and give me a chance. In this universe, Harry Osborn is canonically born a girl to Norman Osborn and establishes somewhat of a connection with the soon-to-be MCU!Spider-man, aka Tom Holland's Spider-man, as children! In addition, Emily Osborn does not die in childbirth. 
> 
> Starting off with this prologue, hopefully it will pique your interest.
> 
> Onwards!

 

_you know nothing._

PROLOGUE

* * *

 

The window is a bit high up for her to see through, but she does so anyway. At the top of a chair, she clambers off instantly when she realizes that the view, through transparent glass, is scary. There are towers and streets and ant-like people, and she doesn’t like looking at them from above.

Bored, she sets off for her father’s special room in his big building, sneaking away from Rachel, the busy lady behind the table using the ringing telephone.

When she gets there, there are storm of sounds, chairs rattling, footsteps clacking. Her eyes peer in, and her ears pick up the words too quickly.

 _Mole!_ They are talking about moles. That’s nice. She likes moles. Moles, _noun_ , her thoughts wander—kingdom: Animalia, phylum: Chordata, family: Talpidae. Moles have extra thumbs, and they also appear on skin and most especially, Disney channel. A good example she knows is Rufus, the cute Naked Mole-rat.

She wants to come in, but they seem to be angry. Why are mother and father so angry about moles? She knows certainly that mother despises rats, calls them vermin. But that can’t be true for father, right? He adores Cleo, her two-month old Pomeranian puppy. It was he who had given the puppy on her birthday, proudly stating that Cleo had come from a premier breeding of show dogs in Taiwan and she should be responsible enough to raise her properly.

“…Dad,” she wanders in, bringing in the snapping gazes of her father and his associates. They fall silent. “I like moles too. Can I help?”

“Not now,” Norman Osborn comes stomping, reaching down and hauling her arm out of the door. Cautiously, he says, “this is an adult matter, not play time, sweetie. Go back and finish your homework. I’m sure you can talk about your moles next time.” Dad shoots a smile at the other men, laughing easily. “You know kids, always yapping about nonsense. And where is Rachel and why didn’t she stop you from leaving the lobby? _Rachel_!”

He shuts the doors behind him, tuning out ‘moles’ and the noise coming from within.

Surly, she narrows her brows, “But Dad! I want to—“

Rachel, phone still in hand, comes tapping in with her scary heels and a permanent exhausted grimace. Her lips morph into an ugly yet plaintive scowl when she spots her, “I told you to sit quietly and study! I’m so sorry, Mister Osborn! The phone was going crazy and Stephanie went AWOL. I just took my eyes off her for a minute and she was gone!”

“Now, now. It’s alright. She’s just a child after all,” he continues gently, his tone soft. She sees him give Rachel the lobby lady a small, strange smile, which Harriet does not understand at all.

“Just…” Father turns and stoops low to face her now, voice _too_ tender, “don’t you dare leave the lobby anymore, Harriet. Obey.” _Or else,_ she can almost hear, and her skin itches.

A beat, and father’s face darkens when Harriet decides that she is not too eager to reply. “ _Okay_?” He edges on.

The last time he’s talked to her like this was when she had failed a Math test. She did not like to study, but she also did not like to get hit. Either way, she had not done well enough and father had still gotten angry at her.

“Yes, Dad.”

Somnolent, he stands stiffly. And almost like in a trance, he walks back to his office, closing the doors securely behind him.

 

-

 

Harriet Osborn doesn’t like her parents’ parties. It’s too hot and her dress is too pink and she’s forced to smile at everyone or else her nanny will give her a mean face and she’ll tell on her to her Dad.

She doesn’t like Nanny Emmy. Not one bit. Even if she’s from France and has a French accent and pretty eyes, which she isn’t too sure of but her father says that Nanny has pretty eyes so that must be true. They talk a lot, especially in his office, especially when mother is gone for afternoon tea. But also, Nanny is with her everywhere, and Harriet has concluded a long time ago that she gets mad easily.

For her birthday last year, Harriet had been given a Jade bracelet for her to wear. Jade bracelets are precious, signifying wealth and proper upbringing. Jade bracelets must be worn on her left hand, because it’s important, her mother had told her.

The thing is, she’s left-handed. Before, when she wrote, she would accidentally scuff it. Nanny Emmy had found out and had hit her several times with a belt. For fear, she had started writing with her right hand instead, diminishing her beautiful hand-writing into chicken scratches. Her teacher, on the other hand, had called Mother on the matter when she had discovered, and Mother, who had always been calm, had become very angry at her.

It had taken precious time under Nanny’s perceptiveness to write carefully with her left-hand without banging the bracelet against the table, but she will always remember mother’s wrath—cool and white-hot and deeply calculated.

She might be scared of Nanny Emmy, but Harriet Osborn is terrified of her mother.

It’s alright, though. Harriet has her father.

“Come now, Harriet. I want you to meet a friend,” dad insists, voice warm and gentle.

He takes her hand and pulls her in the throng of heavily-dressed women and suited men. There are clinking of glass and several violins playing. The human sea parts, greeting her sweetly with smiles and vocal salutations, until father stops abruptly.

“Do _not_ embarrass me,” he hisses harshly, only for her to hear, and he suddenly brandishes a thousand-watt smile when a man with glasses steps forward, “ah! Mister Parker. How great it is to see you here, of course.”

Mr. Parker takes his time to greet Dad, too. Besides that, a woman steps away from the talking men and approaches her. Curious, Harriet eyes her down.

“Oh, what a beautiful girl! Hello there.” This man’s wife, Harriet assumes, is nice-looking and, she’s sure, has pretty eyes. Not like Nanny Emmy’s eyes at all, she thinks. “Harriet is your name, right?”

“Yes,” Harriet answers courteously, rehearsed, almost bowing her head. Father, Nanny, and Mother has ingrained manners and conduct to her, and she’s taken it to muscle memory, to almost robotic measures. “Nice to meet you.”

“So polite,” she hums, motherly and sweet, looking at Dad with her eyes glinting. But she says it like she really means it. Not because it’s the right line to say but because it’s her genuine, subjective observation. Due to this, Harriet feels warm and odd, like she wants to preen and hug her.

“You should meet my son,” she glances at her, amused, “he’s about your age.”

 

-

 

Harriet Osborn is extremely unimpressed to say the least.

This boy has got glasses sizing up his shifting brown eyes, scrawny arms and legs, and has an awkward way of talking—constantly stuttering and cutting off his sentences like he can’t seem to finish them in time. And he isn’t even her age, Peter is older, and honestly she’s never seen or felt such a catastrophic loser in the making.

(He’s stepped in the foyer, and still—he has not taken off his shoes yet! That’s another problem altogether.) Mother and father has not taken out their tongues to tell their guests to take off their shoes, it’s a rule she’s always followed, so she keeps her own mouth shut, albeit irritated at the unfairness of things.

She’s not sure if she’s ever faced something like him before. Oddly enough, she feels much superior to whoever this boy is, and it gives a minimizing level of stress to her brain.

“Hey,” she starts, almost feeling her eyeballs rolling. From being forced to make friends and all that. “I’m Harriet.”

“Uh, hi.” He stumbles, cheeks reddening, initially stunned that she’s talking to him. How pathetic can he honestly get? “I’m Parker Peter—I mean, Peter. Peter Parker.”

“Right.” She stares. “You’re going to Willhelm Elementary too?”

“Y-yes.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

“—You know, Harriet,” dad has joined them, smiling his usual, thousand watt smile. “Peter’s won a lot of science competitions, his recent one was also the National Science Olympiad last June and guess what, he got a gold medal! That’s a budding genius right there.”

She had also entered the National Science Olympiad, but had left with shameful results.

So this is why Dad had agreed for them to meet.

Because Peter is smart, and she is not.

Peter has gone a couple of shades redder, but he still nods to affirm this, proud and shy. Her stomach hurts and she knows why. Mister Parker gives a jolly laugh, “You’re too kind, Norman. Peter’s just hardworking.”

“Unsurprising, he’s a Parker after all,” mother quips, almost snootily just for Harriet.

“Well, I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Mrs. Parker adds good-naturedly, smiling at her husband. “I’m sure Harriet’s an intelligent young girl. I heard she loves animals.” But her comment almost numbs Harriet. She’s looking at her father, waiting for what he’s got to say. She fears that he will say the same thing. It’s better to hear the truth than hear the doubts ringing through carefully knitted words of artificial hope.

Thankfully, Dad guffaws, “Oh, your son has talent and diligence, alright. Your genes passed down for sure. Nothing like my girl, right, Harriet? Still don’t know how to finish your own homework. Still has a tutor to help her out on simple equations, can you believe that? I’m glad she’s joining Peter in school, so he can help her out. But I’m sure even if you try your hardest, Pete, she still won’t be able to reach your level.”

And it’s a simple brush that makes Mr. and Mrs. Parker eye her with a look she cannot measure. In addition, Peter’s unmistakable, alarmed glance gauging her reaction to such statement makes her feel like she’s being force-faced to tendrils of flames.

Harriet Osborn stills. A tornado of embarrassment and tears well up inside her, but just how she is taught, she pushes it all down, squeezing and hiding the seed of resentment under her beating heart. And suddenly, she’s fine. Her face has smoothened over, unaffected, stainless, absolutely indifferent and perfect.

She does not know now, but this will aid her in the years to come.

Or, more precisely, this is the first step of her becoming a silhouette of how an Osborn is supposed to be, as if a tiny hill is just being born from the massive fissures of her father’s prudently planned earth.

 

-

 

And this, in the midst of simmering darkness and wealth and vapid loneliness, is how she meets Peter Parker.


	2. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the start of a friendship means proving how far you can go to avenge them
> 
> or, peter is bullied on the first day of elementary school and harriet thinks, "this definitely won't do."

The next time Harriet Osborn sees Peter Parker, he’s alone and he’s wearing a black suit.

Her floating resentment cuts a bit too short, maybe because her feelings isn’t about abhorring the genius boy anymore, but rather being guilty of having living, breathing parents instead.

When it’s over, they say their condolences, and she watches him, her eyes pressed open and mind returning to their one and only conversation a few months ago. Peter looks back at her, through cloudy tears, and she doesn’t think he knows what to say.

They sit far away, and they leave when the funeral is over.

 

* * *

 

“—Parker…plane…agent…”

There is hushed conversation in the evening two nights after, servants being commanded to store cases and papers, and she wanders in her parents’ bedroom before curfew.

“Dad? Mom?” Their whispers end immediately, and her father props her back to Nanny Emmy’s watchful eye. Harriet, once again muddled, returns to her animal encyclopedia instead.

 

* * *

 

One morning, Norman Osborn flies off for LA, not because he exactly remembered it’s his daughter’s first day of elementary school—no, definitely not—but because another _far_ more important business meeting stood waiting for him there, and a child’s first day of school in the busy streets of New York didn’t really reach too much importance for his attendance to be checked.

 _Whatever_. She growls when Nanny Emmy fusses over her perfectly straightened hair, but aside from that, she doesn’t really find any reason to throw a tantrum. It’s only the first day of school and she can perfectly fit in, sure.

She’s an Osborn, after all.

Mother pats her ribbon and gives her a solemn hug. There is a whisper of ‘Make us proud,’ but she recoils from the second-long intimacy because… It’s not like she’s dying.

Her driver drops her off precisely in front of the school, and after an almost murderous glare from Nanny Emmy when a minute of hesitation springs up from her own palms, Harriet pretends to roll her eyes and ignore the group of stares when Geoffrey clicks open the door for her. There is another breathe of air to take, one that did not include the car A.C. set to her preferred degree, but rather inside the expanse of her new school, and she doesn’t know if she’s going to survive (She probably will, she’s an Osborn). But then she also realized she’s overreacting, so she picks up her expensive backpack, flips her hair, and glides through the infestation of students in the front lawn.

It’s not like she’s alone.

Peter Parker finds her by the end of second period, with a blue backpack with science pins all over and a tuna sandwich in tow.

There is something about Peter Parker that Harriet Osborn did not like. She isn’t specifically sure what it is, but his goofy, puppy dog eyes and his default kindness makes her want to sock him.

The last thing she had heard about Peter Parker over the summer was that he had been moved to his Aunt and Uncle’s home. He’s wearing a T-Shirt that says _Science Rules!_ And looks like he’s going to burst from the jumpiness.

“I’m really, really nervous,” Peter—nervous, anxiety-filled and everything—says to her in the middle of the parting sea of kids. And the funny thing is she doesn’t even know anything about him besides that he’s very smart and her father likes him a lot. Oh, and that his parents are dead.

“But you already had first period,” she says, confused. _And you’re older_ , she wants to say. Shouldn’t she be the one that’s supposed to be freaking out right now?

“I know, but—” He winces, “I don’t think they like me very much.” And abruptly he pulls up his sleeve and out comes very red skin.

Harriet doesn’t realize it but she sees red, “What’s his name?” The words are pleasantly phrased but there is an undertone of something laced darker.

Peter parts open his mouth like a goldfish but refrains from spilling. “No, you can’t tell Aunt May—”

“I’m not going to tell your aunt, stupid!” She rolls her eyes and says ruthlessly. “Just. Tell. Me. The. Name.”

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” he worries, brows furrowed.

“I’m _always_ in trouble.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re going to get expelled!”

“Are you _always_ such a worrywart?”

Peter’s breath comes out in waves from his excessive puppy-like quivers. Harriet doesn’t mind it, but what he says might ring true if they don’t find the stupid guy’s backpack. “On the first day of school! May is going to kill me.”

“Calm down, only one of us is going to get expelled if we get caught and that’s definitely me, so just get off your horse for a minute.”

And she doesn’t hear from him for ten seconds when he clambers back to her crouching position. “Harry,” he begs, his eyes round and clear, “Please.” She hears the nickname but she refuses to acknol

“Fi—” The door to the empty locker room clatters open, and Coach Woods approaches them with a lopsided glare at them, “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

“I-I—um,” Peter starts. “We, uh—”

Harriet rises from her crouch, and haphazardly drops an open white Jansport, that seemingly belonged to an older student, to the ground. The impact sends its contents skimming across the floor, making Peter’s eyes widen until it looked like saucers.

“—One of your students stole my phone,” Harriet brusquely exclaimed, an anger tinged within her tone, but in reality her mind’s scrambling everything up for something to make sense. She drops her phone along the clatter. Peter’s head snaps at her, and his eyes seem to be bulging out by this point. She even points at her carefully placed iPhone near her toe with good measure.

“What? What the hell?” The coach inspects the sudden appearance of the phone on the floor, and eyes Harriet, who at that point has decided to work on the waterworks. He fumbles for the small device and hands it back to her warily, “Now, calm down, young lady, maybe you’ve just forgot it somewhere and this nice person kept it warm for you. And any circumstance isn’t good enough for kids like you to be in the locker room while there is a class on-going.”

Harriet retorts in between sniffles, “I’m telling the principal!”

Coach looks at her agitatedly, and almost forgetting Peter’s presence, he opens his mouth to appease the crying girl. “It’s fine, young lady, just tell me this man’s name and I’ll be reporting him myself for theft.”

She blinks her eyes open and looks over at Peter, egging him for the name.

Peter, looking very much so like a deer in the headlights, nervously fumbled with his fingers as he had no choice but to  cough out the name of the bully he had encountered earlier that day.

 

* * *

 

 

As Aunt May kisses him on the forehead, he looks over at a red-eyed Harriet being picked up by her driver and nanny, her two guardians who have come out from the car and are currently standing over the flustered and nervous bully who, earlier that day, bullied him until his arm hurt. Seeing him in a state of dilemma weirdly enough did not calm his previous anger, but rather brought out the will to want to save him instead.

Despite his actions, Peter still recognized that everyone makes mistakes, even those who bully the weaker ones.

“Something happened?” May questions, glasses perched on her nose, as other parents and kids also stared at the scene.

“You are in big trouble, young man!” The secretary’s voice rises a higher octave, and Harriet looks on with a sniffling, but also a hint of a smug face, “Suspended for theft! On the first day—” The bully cracks and suddenly cries a storm, unsure of what just really happened.

And while he feels a bit light and maybe grateful from such an odd and heavy way of retaliation made up by his new and odder friend, there is a dark realization encroaching his thoughts that _maybe_ , Harriet Osborn will definitely be a difficult enemy to have.

**Author's Note:**

> banner made by me. x
> 
> tumblr: theblythe
> 
> any questions? pm or https://theblythe.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> face claim: Sarah Carlos
> 
> anyway, see ya in the next chapter!


End file.
